


Currents

by October_rust



Series: Drowning/Currents [2]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval/Fantasy, Angst, Kissing, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 09:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12745515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_rust/pseuds/October_rust
Summary: Lord Wayne intervenes when Red Hood is about to be executed.





	Currents

At last, the church bells have stopped tolling.

The ensuing silence is deafening; the crowd gathered in the main square is simply watching Jason. Old and young faces, men, women, children – all of them are staring at him, some of them with pity, others with fear and curiosity, the rest with anger.

Jason returns their attention without blinking. He doesn't cower, just holds his head high and his shoulders straight. Defiance, even while he's kneeling here, on the raised platform, stripped to nothing but trousers and a linen shirt, with his arms chained behind his back.

Pride is all he has left, so Jason clings to it with all his might.

He's not going to show weakness, not in front of the townspeople. 

Not in front of Lord Wayne.

Jason glances left, at the small dais. There, among the nobles and the city officials, under a canopy emblazoned with the sigil of his House, sits Lord Wayne, splendid in his black armor, with a fur-lined cloak draped over his broad shoulders. His gaze is trained on Jason, but his features betray nothing.

Get on with it, Jason thinks. Mete out your justice.

To Jason's right stands an executioner's block, worn out and ruddy with old blood stains. And next to it, the headsman is already waiting, the hilt of a two-handed greatsword poking up over his right shoulder.

The corners of Jason's lips twitch, lifting up into a crooked half-grin.

Well, isn't it a fitting end to this whole farce.

Fool, what a fool he still is.

Didn't he learn his lesson three years ago, when he and his men stormed the gates of Gotham?

After the siege and the taking of the city, after that … incident with Lord Wayne – and he closes his eyes at the memory, feels the burn of shame and yearning, still acute, like an old wound that will never heal properly – he vowed to stay away from Gotham. And he's kept his promise, up until now. 

Why did he even come back to Gotham?

Unfinished business with the Black Mask, that's why.

Just one more mercenary mission, nothing out of the ordinary. Sneak into the city alone, take care of the Black Mask, tie up all the loose ends, get out. 

Get out, and never look back, never see Wayne again.

But of course he couldn't help himself, had to linger in the shadows and stare as Lord Wayne was riding through the streets. The sight was like a punch to Jason's gut – Wayne, tall and strong, sitting atop a magnificent black horse, with his cloak billowing after him. The Dark Knight, Gotham's protector. And Jason looked on, enthralled, kept his gaze a tad too long on that stern, handsome face, the cold blue eyes. 

One moment of distraction, he thinks, flexing his wrists in his shackles, and now he's going to pay for it.

“The outlaw known as the Red Hood,” the herald intones, reading from a rolled out parchment. “is the of enemy of this city, and the enemy of our gracious lord and master. You forfeited your freedom, Red Hood. Your life belongs to Lord Wayne now, to do with as he pleases.”

The irony isn't lost on Jason, and his smile grows wider. He used almost the same words, back when he had Lord Wayne at his mercy. How the tables have turned.

Lord Wayne rises from the high seat, slowly descends down the steps.

Jason feels nothing but a cold sort of numbness as he watches Lord Wayne approach. It's almost over. One cut of the headsman's sword, and Jason's whole unnatural existence, the pit's magic swelling in his veins, the nightmares, the love and hate he still feels for Lord Wayne, no matter how many times he's tried to stomp them out – all of this will finally be over.

Perhaps Lord Wayne will even do the honors himself, and will be the one to put the blade to Jason's neck. 

Lord Wayne stops just before Jason. 

Up close, he's even more intimidating, his powerful frame taking over all of Jason's vision. It's strangely intimate, as if the whole square and the onlookers suddenly disappeared, leaving only the two of them. 

Jason tilts his head back, meets Lord Wayne's eyes. 

“Do with me as you wish,” he says. “That's what you told me three years ago, Lord Wayne. And I suppose this is what you want to hear from me now, isn't it?”

He's got nothing to lose, not anymore, so Jason raises his chin up even more, feels a small thrill when Lord Wayne's gaze drops to the taut line of his bared throat. 

He keeps an insolent smile on his lips. “Go on then. Do with me as you wish.”

Lord Wayne doesn't answer; instead, he simply studies Jason. His eyes resemble shards of ice as they glitter in the pale morning light, and the weight of his regard makes Jason's skin prickle. A lesser man would have flinched, would have bowed to Lord Wayne's will. Jason withstands it, even though this closeness and Lord Wayne's attention tug at the most primal part of him, demanding obedience.

“Well?” he asks.

Slowly, Lord Wayne reaches for the silver brooch pinning his cloak at his right shoulder. The clasp is wrought in the shape of a bat with its wings spread, and comes loose with ease. Then, Wayne undoes the clasp at his left shoulder. 

Jason can only stare, stunned, as the heavy fabric slides off Lord Wayne's back. 

No. 

He can't mean …

Lord Wayne catches the cloak before it can pool at his feet. And, without any further dallying, he sweeps it over Jason's shoulders.

No.

But it's too late, it's already done. The cloak surrounds Jason in a flurry of black, the soft fur trimmed around the edge tickles the side of Jason's neck. Warmth starts seeping in almost immediately. 

Despite that, every muscle in Jason's body goes rigid. His hands clench, and his nails dig into the inside of his palms. 

He shudders when strong, gauntleted fingers take hold of his jaw.

“Murderer,” Lord Wayne says, his voice surprisingly gentle. “Traitor.” At odds with the calm tone, Wayne's grip tightens, giving Jason no choice but to straighten up on his knees, and crane his head as far back as possible. 

Lord Wayne bends over Jason. “Thief.” The last accusation is whispered against Jason's lips. “I claim you for my own. From now on, you will not raise your sword against me or mine. From now on, you will stand faithful by my side. From now on, you are mine.” 

The words sink in, and Jason can already feel their power, the old magic resonating deep into his very soul. Long ago, he pledged his life to Lord Wayne. And now his lord has decided to renew this vow, and bind the two of them together once again. The liege and his knight. 

All that's left is to seal the oath, and Jason trembles even more when Lord Wayne's mouth brushes over his. It's chaste and brief, but still enough to make Jason's heart beat faster, and his breath catch in his throat.

Why are you doing this to me, he wants to shout. Why this. Why now.

And then it's over and Lord Wayne draws himself back, putting distance between the two of them.

Jason glares up at him through the blur of angry tears.

Why.

But the only answer he gets is the strange, unguarded emotion reflected in Lord Wayne's eyes. Forgive me, they seem to say. But there's also a glint of steel underneath the sorrow, a fierce determination.

“You are mine,” Lord Wayne repeats. His thumb strokes over Jason's cheek, the touch slow, almost sensual. “Never forget that.”

Jason bows his head and closes his eyes.


End file.
